One Icy Night in Georgia
by Maddie
Summary: Trapped between ever growing herds of walkers, constantly on the run seeking a safe place, Beth, Hershel and Daryl are separated from the rest of the group when the weather turns to freezing rain. With Daryl injured it is up to Beth and her father to find safe haven so Daryl can heal. Set between Seasons 2 and 3. Is there BETHYL here? Do I ever not. Platonic early friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Except for three post Coda stories and this entry, a complete chronological list of my Bethy fanfic can be found at on my profile page

This is a story that's been mulling around in my head for some time. I really wanted to write a story with Beth, Hershel and Daryl. This is set during the time they were on the road between season two and three. At the end of season two Beth was a terrified, traumatized teen. She did not change overnight into the confident woman we see in the later seasons. But she did start to change the day she chose not to commit suicide. This is just my attempt to paint the blank canvas that is Beth Greene during this time period. Hope this was successful.

 **One Icy Night in Georgia**

Rick forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel, pushed his shoulders back and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. As the last hour had passed he had hunkered down, his shoulders hunched and tense, driving as though his will alone were pushing the vehicle forward. The past week had been hell. Every time they thought they had found refuge, their sanctuary had been overrun by walkers. Both the number of groups and the dead in each group had been growing as they moved untiringly, restlessly, massing into ever larger herds. Not yet as overwhelming as the herd that had driven them from Hershel's farm, but getting there.

Glancing at the passenger seat of the SUV he was driving Rick was relieved to see Lori had finally fallen asleep, Carl curled against her side. She was struggling to keep up, growing increasingly weak from lack of food and insufficient rest. They all needed to eat more, but Lori had been unable to keep down the little she ate and it showed in the sharpness of her cheekbones and the hollows beneath them. Always thin, this pregnancy was dragging what little reserves she had left out of her and he cursed Shane for that. He and Carl needed Lori.

The short, sharp backfire of a cantankerous engine drew him out of his reverie as he glanced into the rearview mirror. The old blue pick-up that contained Hershel and Beth was enveloped in a cloud of black smoke. As each day passed the rundown vehicle was becoming a greater problem, burning oil and now, falling behind. Rick feared they would lose the truck and with it their ability to carry any supplies they had been able to scavenge, but they may soon need to abandon it. They had been forced to move faster to outrun or evade the growing herds, and it was becoming a liability. But now was not the time. If Daryl's prediction was good, and they usually were, they needed gain ground on the massing walkers and avoid being caught in the middle of the herd they had spent the past two weeks avoiding. That meant moving now and moving fast. Hershel knew of a small church near Darington that might be secure enough to provide shelter for the night - long enough for them to rest and possibly hunt.

The rumble of Daryl's bike caught Rick's attention and he rolled his window down half way.

"Hershel's in trouble," Daryl shouted, the wind carrying half his words away. "I'm gonna…drop back."

"Be careful," Rick shouted. "If we get separated, we'll wait north of here at the mall we hit for gas last week. We can't wait there long. From there we move on to Darlington."

Daryl nodded and Rick heard the bike's big engine revving down as he dropped back to run beside Hershel and Beth.

Rick was not happy with the situation but they had little choice. Adding to his worries dark clouds had been slowly building on the horizon, weighty and heavy with rain, and the temperature had dropped noticeably during the day. They needed to find shelter fast.

~oOo~

Leaning forward in her seat, lips pressed into a grim line, Beth ground her teeth, willing the old truck to keep moving. She could tell her father was fighting with the pick-up, determined to keep it running, trying not to fall too far behind. The engine had begun to cough and sputter with frightening regularity and she could smell the unmistakable fumes from burning oil. She knew her father needed to concentrate so she kept silent, but she did not fail to notice when Daryl dropped back to where they trailed the pack of vehicles, riding for a moment beside them before falling back farther to their rear. Beth glanced back to where he had positioned himself fifteen or so yards behind - clear of the cloud of black smoke belching out of the truck's exhaust pipe, but close enough to assist if needed. He was guarding their back, though Beth wondered what he could really do if they got into trouble. He knew engines and could keep the truck going if anyone could, but if they broke down completely he would not be able to give them both a ride. She glanced nervously over her shoulder a second time assuring herself he was still there, his presence more comforting than she had expected. He was a survivor, and she could not think of anyone else, except maybe Rick, she trusted to keep them safe.

A year ago, even two months ago when they still had the farm, she might not have thought so. No, that was not true either. She had always sensed the goodness in Daryl and although she had found herself uncomfortable around him, it was never a matter of fear. She was uncomfortable because he acted as though he had felt inferior to her. It showed in subtle ways like the deferential nod with which he always greeted her, never meeting her gaze, always averting his eyes when he talked to her as though she was royalty. She was no princess, just a farm girl with an overprotective family.

Truth be told, she had more than once found herself daydreaming about joining the uninvited strangers that had camped on their front lawn. Daddy had not wanted her anywhere near them, but she had watched, from her bedroom window upstairs, eavesdropping when their voices had carried to the house on the hot, still summer air. She had smelled the smoke from their campfires and had joined them when they offered to teach her and Patricia how to use a gun. And more than once she had watched as Daryl left the relative safety of that camp, first to search for that missing little girl, then later to distance himself from memories too painful and relationships too volatile. Despite Daddy's efforts to keep them away, Rick and his people had slowly insinuated themselves into the lives of the Greene family. Beth thought that was a good thing even when it made her nervous - even when he made her nervous.

No, she had never feared Daryl Dixon. He could be coarse and he could be deadly, but she had also seen him skittish as a new colt, like the day Daddy had asked him to sit with her while he tended a colicky horse. It had been after her stupid attempt at suicide when she had been confined to bed. He had prowled her bedroom nervous as a newly caged bird until she had asked him to hand her a pack of cards and he had taught her that silly card game. He had been as patient as a saint and he had relaxed. For the first time she had glimpsed the person hidden beneath the rough and the dirt. But he had shut down like a steel trap when her Daddy walked into the room again. He had always kept his distance, polite and proper after that. Even when he was showing her things she, they all, needed to learn to survive. Polite, proper, distant, but she knew he watched her when he thought no one else was looking. It was like he was trying to figure out who she really was underneath that princess disguise he was convinced she wore.

Another loud backfire from the old truck's exhaust and a mumbled comment from her dad, snapped her back to present. She glanced over her shoulder again. Daryl still rode a few yards behind them. She could see him through the ever thickening cloud of black smoke they left in their wake. Then another sound brought her attention to the front. The splattering sound of sleet hitting the windshield. She sucked in her breath and risked a glance at her father.

"Not good," he said softly looking briefly at her before turning his concentration to the road once more.

The clouds that had been building on the horizon for the last hour were now over them heavy, dark and laden with moisture. The temperature of the air had dropped and what was starting out as rain, would soon turn to sleet and ice. The truck was old and cantankerous and she doubted the heater had worked in the last decade. She suppressed a shiver as the chill permeated the cab of the truck. Daryl had to be colder, exposed to the wind, the rain slowly soaking through his clothing.

"We need to find shelter." her dad said softly

"We can't be that far behind Rick," Beth said. "We can make it to the church."

"I know, baby girl." Hershel continued to drive, but his speed had slowed. "That's what I'm hoping. But these tires are practically bald. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to get enough traction to drive. If this starts to freeze on the road, we may have to pull over."

"What about Rick and the others?"

"They're not going to leave without us unless the situation is dire. We'll catch up."

"And Daryl?"

"There's room in the cab for three." Hershel thought a moment. "Maybe we can get his bike into the back of the truck. We definitely need to get him in out of the weather."

Beth saw her dad's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel and he muttered a rare expletive as the tail end of the pickup suddenly swung to the left. Hershel worked the steering wheel to control the skid, over correcting twice before bringing the vehicle back into line. His face had gone white under his tan, and when he looked at Beth his mouth was set in a tense, grim line.

"Pretty good for not having much practice driving on ice," Beth said lightly, hoping to relieve the tension she saw in her father's face.

"Not bad for an old timer," Hershel agreed.

Beth turned in her seat to look out the back window, checking on Daryl one more time. They were rounding a curve in the road when they hit a patch of black ice and almost lost the truck to that skid. She waited, biting her lower lip nervously. Daryl was not that far behind them. He should have cleared that curve by now even if he had backed off when they had begun to slide. She counted slowly under her breath, trying to estimate his reappearance, but he did not re-appear.

"Daddy," Beth said anxiously. "I don't see Daryl."

"He's probably slowed down because of the ice."

"We can't get too far ahead of him." Beth still saw no sign of the big bike and its rider.

She heard the truck's engine begin to whine as Hershel shifted into a lower gear, slowly bringing the pick-up to a lumbering halt.

"We need to go back, Daddy," she said, trying to keep the worry from her voice. "He may be in trouble. We really need to go back," Beth said again, making no attempt to hide her fear as she pointed out the passenger side window. Shambling through the field of uncut hay to their right were a pair of walkers. They were heading towards the truck attracted by the sound of the engine backfiring.

"Damn," Hershel said. He pulled several feet ahead to the access road for the field and carefully backed the truck up. Hershel eased forward coaxing the truck back on to the road. The rear wheels spun when they met the pavement and for a bad moment Beth was afraid they would never get moving. Then the tires caught on a bit of loose gravel and they started moving slowly in the direction they had come retracing the road towards the curve.

The walkers stumbled out of the field and onto the icy road gnarled fingers clutching at the tailgate. As they stepped onto the slippery surface their legs went out from under them and they crashed to the ground, piles of icy rags and twisted limbs. It was like a horribly bad, slapstick comedy routine and under any other circumstances Beth would have laughed out loud as they struggled to rise. Instead she sighed in relief. They would be safe from that pair at least for a little while. And she made a mental note to remember that walkers did not do too well on ice.

Beth was sure Daryl was in trouble. Even if they had not taken the time to turn around he should have caught up to them by now. As they approached the curve, she saw Daryl's bike on its side in the middle of the road. Hershel worked the truck to the side of the road so the driver's side wheels were on the gravel berm. As they came to a stop, Beth pointed again. A dark, motionless form lay against the trees that ran along the roadside. Before her father could protest, she had opened the door on her side and stepped carefully onto the road. She almost went down herself before she reached the rough weeds that edged the road.

"Daryl," she called in a low voice, scanning the line of vegetation for any sign of approaching walkers. All she heard was the glasslike tinkling of sleet pellets striking the ground and the trees. It was the only sound in the eerie silence after her dad turned off the truck. Daryl was unconscious. He had come to rest about ten feet from his motorcycle, his back against a tree, his left arm thrown over his face, hiding it from view. But Beth could still see the blood matting his hair.

"Be careful," Beth called softly to her father. She needed her dad whole and well. Then she heard the noise they all dreaded, muffled by the underbrush and the freezing rain, but a distinctive as the cry of any predator. She reached for her side and realized she had been in such a hurry to help Daryl, she had left her pike in the truck. Without hesitation, she fumbled underneath Daryl until she freed his hunting knife from its sheath at his side.

"Don't move him," Hershel called quietly from the truck. He had opened his own door and stepped gingerly onto the frozen weeds.

Beth waved at him to remain where he was, certain that he had not yet sensed the imminent danger coming from the woods. Before Hershel could cross the road the walker emerged. It had been a woman, taller than Beth and heavier. Limp tatters of fabric and flesh hung from her arms, torso and face in a bizarre imitation of humanity. Beth knew what she had to do even though she had only killed one walker. Gripping the knife firmly in a hand that had begun to sweat nervously despite the cold, she advanced on the enemy waving her arms to distract it from Daryl who still lay helpless behind her. She heard her father load a round into the chamber of his shotgun, and she motioned for him to hold his fire. They needed to be as stealthy as possible in case there were more walkers nearby. She continued to circle the walker. She had its attention now. It turned away from Daryl and started to follow Beth in the opposite direction. Only then did Beth charge forward as she had seen Rick and Daryl and the others do on so many occasions. With her arm stiff to hold the creature away from her she grabbed a fistful of its ragged clothing, then raised the knife and plunged its blade into the walker's left eye socket. It dropped noiselessly to the ground at her feet. Beth waited, listening as her own heart pounded in her chest, but she heard no other sounds. Perhaps this walker was alone. She looked over her shoulder to where her dad now stood protectively over Daryl's prone form, and her dad nodded approvingly. Only then did she release the breath she had been holding, swipe the knife clean in the icy grass and go back to her father's side.

"Well, done, Bethy," her dad said softly. Hershel knelt by Daryl's side and carefully felt for a pulse, then ran his hands expertly over the man's neck and back before he nodded to Beth and smiled slightly. "He's alive. I can't be sure he hasn't injured his neck or spine but there are no outward signs that he has. Head trauma for sure and there may be other injuries so we need to be very careful when we move him."

Beth breathed a sigh of relief and indicated that she understood. She was beginning to shake, both from the cold and from the adrenalin that had been coursing through her body and now had nowhere to burn out except in shivers.

"We need to get him into the truck," Hershel continued calmly. "There's a tarp in the back. We can use it to slide him over, then lift him into the bed."

"Is it too cold for him to ride in the bed?' Beth's own teeth were beginning to chatter.

"We need to keep him as level as possible until we're sure there are no injuries to his spine. It's not the best situation, but it will have to do. We can wrap him in the tarp to keep the rain off. There was a farmhouse a couple miles back. With any luck we can shelter there."

Beth nodded shivering as the freezing rain crusted her hair and clothing. "Then I'll ride in the back to keep him from moving if he wakes up."

Hershel looked as though he was going to object. Instead he just nodded.

Beth stood and carefully crossed the road to the pick-up glancing in both direction, half expecting to see the slipping, sliding walker duo they had left behind come round the corner. She wondered how long they would pursue a living human or if they would stop once they lost the scent. She shivered again. The tarp was stowed in the tool box behind the cab so at least it was dry. By the time she got back to her father he had pulled Daryl's arms down to his sides. They gently rolled him onto his back on the tarp then dragged him across the road. Beth struggled to keep her footing on the icy road, but was more concerned her father might fall. It took all of her strength to help lift Daryl into the truck without any of them crashing to the ground again. When he was in the back, she crawled up into the bed and her father covered her with the loose tarp. She was beginning to worry that Daryl had been unconscious for so long and prayed he hadn't hit his head too hard.

"Hang on, Bethy. It should only take four or five minutes to backtrack to the farmhouse."

Hershel fired up the engine and for once it did not backfire, then Beth felt the truck move onto the pavement. She knew her dad was driving very slowly to avoid another skid. Although she knew they did not have to travel far, Beth thought they would never get to the farmhouse. The cold had penetrated all of her clothing and she was shivering uncontrollably when she felt the truck turn and heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. The drive was rough, and Beth tried to steady Daryl as they bumped over ruts and potholes and finally came to a stop. Hershel cut the engine as Beth tossed the tarp off herself and stood up in the bed pulling the tarp over a still unresponsive Daryl.

While she had the advantage of standing in the truck, she surveyed the surrounding yard and woods hoping against hope there would be no more walkers.

Hershel came around to the side of the vehicle as Beth was climbing down. "We need to clear the house," Beth said matter-of-factly, though the prospect terrified her. This was Daryl's job, and Rick's. Then she took a steadying breath. And Carl's. If Carl could do this so could she. But she knew her father had not killed a single walker since they had been out on the road. And he had never killed one up close with a knife - only with a gun back at the farm. We need to do it fast so none of them finds Daryl in the back of this truck while he's still unconscious, she added to herself. And we need to do it as silently as possible. "I'll take the lead," she said as firmly as she could, tightening her grip on Daryl's knife.

"Beth,"

"I can do this, Daddy. Just watch my back."

Hershel had parked the truck close enough to the front door to make unloading their patient easier. Beth walked up onto the porch and banged loudly on the front door, then waited. When she heard nothing, she slowly opened the door.

It was a tiny house. Single story, and maybe a small attic or basement. Better than having to do two floors, she told herself. Once inside the door, she banged again on the hallway wall, hoping there would be no response. Her heart sank when she heard a guttural growl from up ahead, the second room on the right she was certain. When nothing emerged from that room she moved forward with her dad behind her. She approached the door to the room and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a single walker, on the floor, apparently unable to rise. Quickly and silently she ran the knife through its forehead and it stopped moving. There were no more sounds, but she and her father cleared the other rooms, the closets, and even rattled pans in the basement stairwell. Nothing.

"Let's get Daryl in here fast," Hershel said when they were sure the house was secure.

On the way out they dragged the remains of the walker to the porch pulling him off to one side. Sliding Daryl from the back of the truck they dragged him into the front room. It had a carpet, and a wood stove. If they could find wood they might be able to start a fire.

Beth assumed the lone walker must have been the owner of the house. He appeared to be elderly, his hair snowy and thin. There were no visible marks on his body so she assumed he died of natural causes and turned alone here in his home. He had boarded up the windows before he died and must have been prepared to ride out this disaster in his home, which meant they could hopefully keep any approaching walkers at bay.

Settling Daryl on the carpet near the wood stove, Hershel began to unbutton his jacket. "Grab those blankets and quilts off the bed in the other room."

Beth raced to the bedroom and yanked the coverings off the bed.

"Why don't we just put him on the bed, Daddy?" she asked.

"It will be warmer here once we get a fire in this stove."

"Do you think it's safe to build a fire?" Beth asked.

Hershel shook his head. "It isn't safe to not build a fire. We need to warm Daryl up. And we need to keep ourselves warm. It's a chance we have to take. I'm just hoping they're only attracted to the flickering flames and not the smell of smoke. The fire will be contained inside the wood stove. Now help me get these wet clothes off him."

Beth felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Stripping Daryl Dixon was not high on her list of secret dreams.

"There's no need to blush," Hershel said a hint of laugher in his voice. "You know the anatomical structures, child. I'm not asking you to seduce the man. We're trying to save his life."

"I wasn't concerned about that, Daddy. I don't think he wants us to see or know about the scars."

"Well, we've already seen and we already know," Hershel replied as he continued to peel the sodden clothes off the unconscious man. "So, help me get the clothes off him before he becomes hypothermic." Daryl's lips were already tinged blue and his skin felt cold. Neither of them missed the large bruise darkening across his back where he had slammed against the tree trunk. She could see the concern in her father's face as he gently palpated the area. "There could be some kidney damage. That bruise is directly over his left kidney."

"How can we know?" Beth asked through chattering teeth.

"Pain, possibly nausea, blood in his urine if the kidney is damaged enough that it's hemorrhaging,

They finished wrapping Daryl in the blankets and Hershel rose to his feet.

"You need to get dry clothing on too," Hershel told her. "We all need to dry off. I think I saw a wood pile behind the house. Before I get dry I'm goin' to load some of that wood on to the porch."

"Let me help."

"No, Beth, you need to stay with Daryl. He's going to be very confused when he wakes up. One of us needs to stay within hearing range to keep him as calm as possible. I don't want him moving around until I have made a better assessment of his injuries." Hershel must have seen the concern on her face because his tone softened and he reached out to brush the stray hair from her cheek. "Maybe you can find some dry paper or other tinder and matches to help start this fire. And see if you can find dry clothes for both of us."

Beth nodded without saying anything. The thought of her dad out alone in the cold rain scared her to death, but she knew he was right about needing someone to be with Daryl when he woke up. Which, she prayed, would be soon because it seemed as though he'd been unconscious for hours even though it was probably not even half an hour since his accident. Hershel got to his feet. Beth remained by Daryl's side until she heard the front door close. Then with a shiver, she rose and went into the bedroom again. The closet door was slightly ajar, and there were two dressers in the room. She found blue jeans, flannel shirts, t-shirts and sweaters. They felt clammy to the touch, but they were dry even though everything was too big on her. She set aside clothes she thought would fit her dad and Daryl, then went back to check on him. There had been no change and she was really beginning to worry that he had suffered a major head trauma.

Her big brother Shawn had been an Eagle Scout. He once told her that as part of a first aid course they were trained to take off their own clothes and crawl into the sleeping bag with the hypothermia victim to keep them warm. She wasn't sure she was ready to do that yet. She would have been more comfortable doing that with a complete stranger because then it would just be a matter of keeping the person warm. She wasn't sure she could remain neutral when the other person was Daryl. She didn't want to think of how Daryl would respond if he woke up to find her naked wrapped in a blanket with him. Or in her underwear and in blanket with him. Or fully clothed curled up with him.

Hurry back with that wood, Daddy, she thought, or I won't have a choice.

"Come on, Daryl, wake up please," she said resting her hand against his cheek. He was so cold, too cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Reluctantly, she went into the kitchen and began to rummage through the cupboards. There wasn't much, but she did find a tin of coffee, some cans of broth, bottled water and tuna. The broth would be good for Daryl if they could warm it, and Daddy would love to have coffee. In the back of the cupboard she even found a few herbal tea bags for herself. Mice had gotten into anything in a cardboard box, and she frightened one small mouse who was nesting in the breadbox. So she gathered all the empty cereal and cracker boxes to use for tinder.

"What the fuck?"

Beth dropped the cardboard she had been collecting when she heard Daryl's sudden exclamation. She was only feet from the living room door and was by his side in seconds. She found him struggling with the tangle of blankets they had wrapped around him, disoriented and wild eyed.

"What the fuck is going on," he snapped at her, continuing to fight to sit up even as she pressed her his shoulders back down on to the floor.

"Daryl, no, stop fighting. You need to stay quiet."

"No," he hissed back pushing against her.

"Daryl," she said sharply, as she tried to pin his shoulders to the ground. "Look at me. It's Beth. Please." The struggle would have been one sided had Daryl been fully aware of what he was doing. As it was, Beth had a hard time keeping him still and ended up with her body thrown across his as she attempted to keep him down. Finally she took his head in both her hands and made him look at her face. "It's me. Beth."

Slowly Daryl subsided as he attempted to focus on her face. "What the hell."

Beth relaxed her grip, not wanting to agitate him more than he already was. "You crashed your bike on the ice. Hit your head." She spoke in short, breathless sentences.

She felt a shiver run through him, then he gathered the blankets around himself as though he realized he was naked. There was a wild confused look on his face as he pulled away from her.

"Daryl, it's just me Beth."

It's like talking to a stone, Beth thought. She held up both hands in a calming gesture. "You need to lay back down and try to stay calm."

Daryl closed his eyes his face pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cold. He opened his eyes moments before he rolled to his side and retched violently. He continued to heave even though there was little in his stomach to vomit. Beth felt completely helpless so she did the only thing she could think of and gently rubbed his shoulders through the blanket still wrapped around him. He lay on his side, propped on one elbow, head hanging abjectly, both hands clenched into white knuckled fists. Even without words, Beth knew he was in pain.

"Daryl," she said encouragingly, "Daddy needs to figure out how badly you got hurt. You need to tell us where it hurts."

Daryl jerked away from her touch. "Ain't nothin'." He said through gritted teeth.

Beth knew he was lying. She also knew that hiding the pain was not going to help. Before she could say another word, she heard the front door open and a few minutes later, the clump of firewood being set on the entry way floor. She jumped up to find her father pushing the cedar chest from the bedroom in front of the door.

"Daryl's conscious," she said quickly, moving to her father's side. Ice crusted his hair and had frozen on is beard and for one crazy second her dad reminded her of Santa Clause.

"Good," said her dad, moving towards the living room. Daryl remained as Beth had left him, on his side half curled into a ball. "Any other changes in our patient?" Hershel asked.

"He was nauseated. But just dry heaves."

"Good Job, Bethy," he said approvingly, before kneeling next to Daryl.

"I think he may be in pain," Beth added.

"Would be surprised if he wasn't," Hershel said.

"I ain't dead," Daryl said gruffly. "Can hear what you're saying."

"Good," said Hershel, "then you can tell me what hurts. I need to look at the bruising on your back. I think you may have damaged a kidney and possibly your ribs."

Hershel turned to his daughter. "See if you can find a small clear glass container of any sort in the kitchen."

Beth nodded and did as asked returning in a few moments with a small mason jar.

"Now," said Hershel to Daryl, "I'm going to palpate your back. You need to tell me where the pain is."

Daryl reluctantly allowed Hershel to pull the blankets from his shoulders, but he hung his head and turned away from both of them. As gently as possible Hershel probed the area around the bruise. Beth heard Daryl's breath hiss as Hershel hit particularly tender spot. Hershel shook his head. "Do you still feel nauseous?"

Daryl nodded.

"I believe you have bruised your kidney as well as cracked at least one rib. The most severe pain may be due to bleeding in that kidney causing pressure. I'll need to collect a urine sample to determine if you are passing any blood."

"Ain't pissin' in no bottle," Daryl said though tightly clenched teeth.

"Yes. You are," Hershel said with equal firmness. "And I have the bottle you're pissin' into." He handed Daryl the jar Beth had brought from the kitchen.

"Gonna need a bigger jar."

"There is a bathroom off the hallway. As soon as you are able I'll help you get there. Beth found dry clothes for all of us. If you feel up to it you can dress. You need to keep as warm as possible. "

Daryl didn't answer but Beth thought she saw the barest nod of his head. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Beth was glad to see that the bluish cast was gone from his lips and his skin had lost the ghastly pallor from half an hour ago. He was definitely warmer. "Let's get this over with." he said.

Hershel helped Daryl to his feet, steadying the younger man when he suddenly grew pale and began to sway. After a few seconds they made their way into the hallway and across to the bathroom. Beth turned her back not wanting to make Daryl any more uncomfortable.

Grabbing several pieces of the drier wood from the entryway, she hurried back to the living room. She opened the wood stove door. Carefully she piled in the dry paper she had found, followed by the slivers of wood her father had thought to split off one of the pieces of firewood, added the larger split logs and carefully lit the pile.. She breathed on the flames encouraging them to grow and did not close the door until the tinder and kindling was ablaze. By that time her father and Daryl had entered the room, both wearing the dry, if ill-fitting clothing she had laid out for them. Hershel helped Daryl to the sofa and when he was settled covered him with the blankets he had been wrapped in. By the time he was finished the heat from the little wood stove had begun to cut the chill in the room. Beth knew it would not take long to dispel the cold from the small living room, and for the first time since Daryl's accident she felt herself begin to relax. She could feel her cheeks flush with the heat and it felt so good.

Her stomach chose that precise time to growl loudly. Both her dad and Daryl looked at her and this time her cheeks reddened again, but not from the heat.

"Come with me," Hershel said softly, a slight smile on his face. Beth followed him out into the entranceway. "Help me move this," he said indicating the cedar chest he had pushed against the door.

"You're not going out again," Beth said. "We have enough wood to last through the night and more."

"I'm not going far." Hershel pulled his damp jacket back on and winked at her. "You just keep an eye out for any walkers sneaking out of the woods.

Beth knew there was no arguing with her father. She stood in the doorway scanning the yard and trees, hand on the grip of Daryl's knife, which she had not yet returned. She tried not to look at the body of the walker she had killed. It didn't matter how many of them she had seen die, or how gruesome their appearance, part of her still remembered that once they had all been people with lives and families. Some of them had been her mom, and her brother. She quickly blanked those thoughts from her mind. That was the past and it was not coming back. She still had her dad and her sister and her new family. The cold had begun to seep through her clothing again and she silently urged he father to hurry. No sooner had she made her silent wish, she heard movement from the corner of the house and she raised the knife to shoulder level prepared to strike if needed. A sigh of relief escaped her as her dad rounded the corner of the house, a sack over his back, ice once again beginning to crust his hair and beard and for the second time she thought how much he reminded her of Santa Claus.

Hershel's face wore a broad grin as he climbed the steps and shoed her inside with a wave of his free hand.

Beth did not relax until they were both inside and the cedar chest was once again braced against the door. Her dad finally spoke as he shook the ice out of his coat and hung it over the doorknob to dry. "I heard your stomach, Bethy. It's been a long day and we're all hungry."

"I found some food in the kitchen," Beth said quickly. In their rush to start a fire and tend to Daryl, she hadn't gotten to tell her father. "Bottled water, canned broth – that will be good for Daryl if he can keep it down - coffee for you, some canned tuna, and tea."

"That's wonderful," Hershel said grinning. "Combined with this we can have a regular feast." Bending over he emptied the sack. Inside was a pumpkin, bright orange and crusted with ice, carrots, beets, and a few potatoes. "The old man had a garden out back. It was pretty overgrown, but he must have died before he got to harvest much of it."

"Oh, daddy, this is wonderful." Maybe her dad really was Santa she thought as she helped him carry his treasure into the kitchen.

The small wood stove had warmed the living room and the heat had begun to spread to the other rooms as well. It wouldn't heat the entire house completely, but the living room and kitchen were all they really needed. Beth glanced in Daryl's direction as they passed through the living room. His eyes were closed and for a second she thought he was unconscious again, then she realized he was asleep, basked in the heat from the stove. There was a rosy flush on his cheeks which looked much healthier than the bluish pallor that it replaced. Hershel nodded to her that all was well with their patient and they both went to work in the kitchen. Soon they had a roasting pan full of vegetables on top of the stove and the smell was wonderful even if it was just beets, and carrots and pumpkin.

"How long do you think we'll be able to stay here?" Beth finally asked her father.

"I hope for at least 48 hours," Hershel replied. "I'd like Daryl to rest at least that long."

"We're never going to catch up to Rick and the others." It was not something Beth wanted to discuss, but it had been on her mind since they had gotten separated. "And the herds we saw. If they're moving the way Rick thought they were." She didn't want to finish that possibility. The thought of being permanently separated from the rest of the group scared her more than she wanted to think. She didn't know if three people alone out here could survive. Even if one of those people was Daryl Dixon.

"Nothing we can do about that now. So there's no sense worrying about it, Hershel said calmly.

But Beth could see that her father was concerned too. The herds seemed to be getting larger, and if Rick's guess was right, and they usually were, the groups they had been keeping track of were going to merge, and this farmhouse was too close. That was why they had been trying to leave this area.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder and she looked up into his eyes. "I said no worrying and I meant it. We'll worry when Daryl is fit to travel. For now we need to sit tight and I think this is as good a place as any."

Beth nodded, lifting her chin and trying her best to stay calm.

"Besides," her father continued. "Looks like these vegetables are hot and ready to eat."

"Good, cuz I'm starved."

Beth looked up to where Daryl lay on the sofa and grinned. "You're awake," she said, stating the obvious.

"Pretty much. You said there was food?"

Beth jumped to her feet, grabbed a cup from the kitchen and ladled some warm broth into it, holding it out to Daryl. He wrinkled his nose.

"Said I was hungry not thirsty," he complained.

"Well complaining is a good sign," Hershel said getting to his feet and walking over to where Daryl sat, still wrapped in blankets. He quickly examined the wound on his head, checked his eyes to make sure they were properly dilated, then took the younger man's wrist to check his pulse with one hand while laying the other on Daryl's forehead to check his temperature. Daryl tried to pull away, but Hershel was not going to be defied, "You took a hard knock to the head, and were pretty nauseous earlier," Hershel said firmly. "Broth first. If it stays down. You'll get more."

Daryl grunted, but took the cup Beth offered, cradling it in his hands, savoring the heat and the smell before sipping at the hot liquid. He shrugged and grunted again. "Pretty good for vegetable juice," he said as he sipped again. Beth smiled then turned to ladle the hot vegetable stew into plates for herself and her father.

~oOo~

Nothing like a belly full of food and the toasty warmth of a good fire to make a person drowsy. They had all eaten their full and there was enough stew for tomorrow, carefully covered and placed in the room farthest from the fire where it would remain cool. Hershel had settled into the armchair in the living room, pushing himself backwards until the foot rest had risen and he reclined almost flat. There was a rosy glow on his cheeks and he sighed contentedly, visibly relaxed. Beth was glad he was resting, but would be happier if he were sleeping. He had worked hard in the sharp cold and rest would do him good. Daryl had finally settled, protesting that he didn't need to be fussed over, but Beth let him know that it wasn't fussing, it was doctor's orders. She was glad to see that his color had returned to normal. He still moved as though he were stiff and bruised, but the nausea had passed

Beth yawned and stretched, then gathered the dishes they had used and took them to the kitchen. She did her best to wipe them clean without wasting any of their precious water. Daddy said there was a hand pump outside. In the morning she planned on seeing if the well it was set in was still good. Because she knew it was something Daryl would do were he feeling better, she made a circuit of the house checking the doors and all of the windows making sure they were all secure and completely covered before returning to the living room. There was a shelf of books along one end of the room and she studied the titles. Most were non-fiction, references and how-too books. But there was a small selection of fiction, several romance novels, mysteries, one or two fantasy. Tucked in between the romances and the mysteries was a paper copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Beth remembered Maggie reading this the summer after her first year of college. Maggie told her she was too little for the book the, but she remembered how much Maggie laughed as she had read the story. Taking her find back close to the wood stove, she tossed a blanket and pillow on the floor and settled cross-legged where she could keep an eye on both her father and Daryl.

"What did you find to read, Bethy?" Hershel asked, his voice sluggish as though he were already half asleep.

Beth held up the novel for her dad to see. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," Beth answered.

"Why don't you read out loud a bit?"

Beth hesitated. Glancing a Daryl to see how he had reacted to the request. "I don't want to bother you." She said hesitantly,

"Pretty good book I hear." Daryl said quietly.

Beth shrugged, opened the worn paper cover, the pages were beginning to yellow a bit and the edges were dog-eared from use. She began to read. "Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. "

~oOo~

Hershel leaned back into the worn cushions of the recliner, more tired than he wanted to admit to himself or his daughter. Every bone in his body ached in tune with the deteriorating weather. The whistle of the wind and the splatter of ice against the window panes, a chilling backdrop to the softness of Beth's voice as she read. When the day had been most difficult, he had done his best to hide his concerns from Beth but he feared she was dealing with the same concerns. Being separated from Rick and the rest of the group was his worst nightmare come true. They had shelter, for now, but it could prove to be most tenuous. Forcing the negative thoughts from his mind, Hershel willed himself to relax. This might be the last time for a long while that they had any modicum of security and they should all take time to rest. Even if only for this one evening. Watching Beth as she read out loud, Hershel could not be more proud of his youngest daughter. Weeks ago, when they had first been forced off the farm she had been a terrified teenager, unskilled and, he had to admit, a liability to the group. He had urged her to learn from Rick and his people. She had taken his words to heart and had proven herself more than once today. She was strong. She was a survivor.

Daryl made a comment Hershel could not hear, but Beth laughed shyly at his words. It must have been something about the book she was reading. Hershel never wanted his children to fear for him. He knew they did. He knew why. He was an old man in a world that would not be kind to old men. His chances for surviving long term without permanent sanctuary were slim. His greatest hope before that inevitable time came, was that Beth would find someone who would be as loyal to her as Glenn was to her sister Maggie. But then, he thought, maybe she had. He had watched Daryl Dixon watching his daughter as she read and there was the hint of something in Daryl's expression when he thought no one was looking. Something that had not been there before. Call it curiosity for now, but Hershel sensed a growing respect as well. Hershel knew Beth was not ready for Daryl Dixon yet. But if he had to pick a man out of this group of survivors to protect his little girl Daryl would be that man. Daryl did not give himself a lot of credit, but Hershel knew he had a good heart buried inside his tough exterior. He had been a survivor all his life. He was going to beat this world if anyone could.

Beth giggled again, and Hershel smiled. It was good to hear his youngest laugh. Closing his eyes he settled into the comfortably worn cushions of the armchair and listened to her soft, melodic voice, not really hearing the words she spoke. And let his mind drift.

~oOo~

Before she reached the end of the first chapter, Beth could hear her father snoring gently. By the end of the second chapter, Daryl had stopped making comments and his breathing had slowed into the gentle rhythm of sleep. Closing the book, Beth rose to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. She went into the kitchen and picked up the long butcher knife she had used earlier to chop up the pumpkin for their dinner hefting it experimentally in her hand. Until this afternoon, she had been afraid of getting close enough to a walker to use a knife on one. She had preferred the long pike that let her stay well away from their gnashing teeth and tearing claw like hands. The butcher knife was not as well balanced as Daryl's hunting knife, but it would do until she found one more suited to her grip.

Once again she made a circuit of the house, checking every window and the back door before settling on the trunk they had moved against the front door. Beth peeked through the narrow crack in the boards covering the window next to the door. She could feel the cold seeping through the single paned glass. The only window not covered by a glaze of ice was this one looking out onto the front porch. The ice had finally stopped falling and the clouds had parted. In the pale wash of moonlight through the broken clouds, the world outside was literally frozen in place. There was no wind and the tall grass in the yard as well as the trees and shrubs along its edges were crusted with a glaze of ice. The world so hushed it seemed a surreal fantasy kingdom, all crystal and shadow. She imagined how the morning sunlight's glorious rays would play along the icy branches dancing in rainbow spectrums, as ethereal as a dream. Nothing disturbed the magical silence. She scanned the tree line watching for any hint of movement but saw nothing. Maybe Daddy was right about them, she thought. Hershel had theorized that the cold blooded walkers might react to the freezing weather in much the same any reptile might, by slowing down and becoming sluggish. They certainly were drawn to fire, but that might only be the light and movement.

She should sleep, but she felt compelled to stand guard. There was really only one way walkers could threaten them and that was if they massed against the front door. As long as they kept the front door clear they should be safe. Settling with her back against the wall, she watched.

~oOo~

The clatter of tin cans against tin brought Hershel bolt upright in his chair, wide awake and reaching for the shotgun beside him. Daryl was two steps ahead of him, knife in hand as he rushed out into the entryway. Beth stood in front of the doorway her left hand extended backward warning them both to silence while in her right hand she gripped the kitchen butcher knife. Both the men froze in their tracks, weapons ready, waiting for the sound to repeat itself. But instead of the sound of their makeshift alarm they heard a fist striking the wooden door in a sharp rapid pounding. A few seconds later the knocking repeated. Cautiously Daryl stepped around Beth to peak through the boards covering the window.

"Shit, it's Rick!" he said.

Daryl shoved the trunk away from the door and pulled the door open. Rick stood, gun at ready. Glenn was a few feet behind him scanning the edge of the woods for walkers.

"Daryl!" Rick holstered his weapon and clapped Daryl on the shoulder. "You're alive man! We found your bike and thought we'd lost you. Hershel and Beth?"

"Both here," Daryl said, stepping aside to allow Rick to enter. Rick's grin broadened as he saw Hershel and Beth.

"Maggie and Glenn?" Hershel asked.

"Waiting for a signal. Everyone is okay. What happened? We thought the worst when we found Daryl's bike, but couldn't find you or the truck." Rick nodded to Glenn who took off down the driveway to gather the others.

"Long story," Daryl commented.

"Well, I'm just glad we found you. We never made it to Darlington. The herds have shifted. Forced us back in this direction. The cold seem to have slowed them down some. Looks like you done good here," Rick said to Daryl.

Daryl looked to the floor, then looked up at Beth and her father. "Weren't me," he said. "I was pretty much out on my ass most of the time. Was Beth done the saving this time."

Rick raised an eyebrow, and Hershel could tell he was anxious for more details. "Beth did kill a walker to save Daryl," Hershel said proudly. He could see his daughter blushing and he laughed. "But you need to get everyone in out of the cold. We have food to share, and stories."

~oOo~

Beth stood aside as the rest of their family entered a few minutes later. Maggie was deliriously happy to see her and their father, hugging them both until Beth thought she would be squeezed to death. Once the door was again secured everyone started talking at once, asking questions. They were all cold and hungry and soon the leftover stew was bubbling on the wood stove. Hershel ordered Daryl off his feet and back on the couch and got little argument from him. Beth could see the color slowly leeching from Daryl's complexion and new he was still in some pain. After he was settled once more, Beth found herself stifling a yawn. It had been a long 24 hours. Grabbing her blanket, she sunk into the worn recliner aware of how truly tired she was. As she drifted off to sleep she could her father telling Rick about their exploits and she smiled. Her daddy was bragging.

end


End file.
